OUR DAYS ARRANGE themselves into a pattern. We meet in the morning. Gym clothes. Workout T-shirts and yoga pants. Our mouths move more than our bodies do. Conversations that roll over the fifteen-minute mark. I barely notice whether Fuentes is watching or not.
We have lunch on Wednesday. I lure her with work.
She falls for it.
I take the opportunity to serve her food that I make. Burnt pans and smoke from the oven. Macaroni and cheese, baked chicken, and steamed vegetables that are a little soggy. I pour watermelon martinis and offer chocolate cake on the end of a fork.
She nibbles at it and it feels like our wedding day. The house sings in her presence.
Lights dim then slash to darkness when she leaves. I stop her at the car.
She says yes when I ask her to lunch again.
Sushi this time. The kind of restaurant normal people don’t know exist.
My wife gasps at the chef who prepares the meal. He moves like a madman. People would pay even more than the serving price just to watch him play with knives.
Wasabi makes my tongue burn. She was always better with spices than I was. The extra pepper on her sushi is proof. So is the soft little moan when the flavors hit her tongue. Her sigh of satisfaction reminds me of cool nights and sheets that fluttered off her naked body.
She thanks me with sparkling brown eyes. Smiles that stretch a little further and shine a little brighter. I tell myself not to slip my hands up her skirt when she hugs me goodbye.
On Friday night, we meet for drinks. No excuse necessary. I crave her company and she’s gracious enough to oblige.
It’s an old country bar with the whackiest mechanical bull I’ve ever seen. We dare each other to ride it. Harriet holds on a little longer than I do.
She has my epic fall on video.
We laugh. A lot. Not only about the bull but about a memory from before.
Old becomes new again.
I remember bitter fights like a faint song. An alternate timeline that never really existed. Nights in the same bed but feeling miles apart. Arguments that ended in tears and curses. Did it happen? Was that me?
In the light, we fall into better versions of ourselves.
The sun shines a little brighter. The breeze tastes a little sweeter. A smile is never far from my face.
We laugh about nothing. Everything. Anything that tickles our fancy. She becomes my best friend in the space of three days.
Have I ever had a best friend?
Did I even think of her as a friend when I married her? It’s strange that I can’t picture a moment when I did.
She was my prize.
My goal.
My lover.
Her company filled me with warmth, but it wasn’t a drug. Not the way it is today.
The way she makes me feel puzzles me. Was this craving always there buried beneath my cluelessness? Did my lack of training, my ignorance on how to be a good husband, bury this version of us deep in the ground?
I’m not doing anything special.
It’s a routine I’ve honed from years of practice. Dating around has its own rhythm. A fine line between the chase and the feasting. Except now, rather than dating two women, I’m dating one. And there’s a lot more I can give her when I’m focused.
Work slips a rung lower. A rung below that. Harriet climbs up.
Until she’s sitting prettily in every thought that crosses my mind.
When can I see her again? That’s my earnest desire before I fall asleep. I wake in the morning and there’s a text I want to send her. An article I think will make her smile. A video that reminds me of something we talked about just last night.
That night, she comes over to discuss another celebrity appearance. It’s been a long day. She doesn’t need to say a word for me to understand. I know what I’m looking at when she sighs, rubs her neck, and squeezes her eyes shut before she speaks.
So I light some candles and bring out the lotion. I rub her feet while she peruses documents. Eventually, I pluck the papers from her hands. Enough work.
We turn on a movie. She puts her head on my shoulder and falls asleep. Simple things. So, so simple.
Can it really be this easy?
Go back to dating.
I didn’t know the answer was in the past. In the heart of a young man who saw a woman at a boxing match and knew he’d do anything to have her. I didn’t know he still existed until I dusted off the covers and found the spark.
Not my fault, but my responsibility.
I’m getting there.
Kind of.
But some habits are harder to break than others.
I learn something about myself when Ashley calls me. I learn that even though I love my wife, even though I’m falling for her all over again, the thought of saying no to sex is inconceivable.
“You haven’t called.” Ashley frowns, marching away from the door she just flung open for me. “You stopped responding to my texts.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Aren’t you tired of that excuse?” Her eyes flash in my direction. She’s a beautiful woman wearing nothing. Does that scrap of fabric count as clothes?
Shadows drape across the ground until the only light in the room are from the candles. Music croons from hidden speakers. Rhythm and blues. The singer is pouring his heart out. A tender croak that demands we release all we are in return.
I already know how I’m going to kiss her. How far my hands are going to roam. I already know it’ll be a slow, sensual rhythm. The kind that invites bodies to linger rather than rush.
Ashley’s eyes are still angry. “You should make it up to me.”
“Baby, it’s been less than a month.” I accept her hand when she holds it out. I let her lead me to the couch. My fingers play with the trimming of her robe when she sits in my lap.
“Jerrison,” her tone falls to a whisper, “you keep saying we’re on a break, but you rushed over tonight. That means something, doesn’t it?”
It means I’m tired of being celibate. “How’s your dad?” I ask, deflecting the question because the answer will ruin the mood.
She sighs loudly. “I talked to him about going to rehab.” Grateful tears make her eyes hazy. “Thank you for that. Everyone is so quick to judge my dad, but they never offer to help him.” She smiles sincerely. “You’re the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t crazy for still believing in him.”
I’m barely listening. Candlelight flickers against her dark skin. My hand cups her cheek. She’s soft as a lamb. “Did you miss me?”
She nods. Kisses my neck.
I lean my head back and let her work my buttons until my shirt is off. “So much.” She tucks my earlobe into her mouth. Sucks it lightly. “I
missed you so much, baby.”
You hurt me, Jerrison.
I hear my wife in my head.
The voice is so sharp, so clear, that I sit up straight and glance around. “Relax, baby.” Ashley runs her hands up my chest. She slides her leg
over so she’s straddling me. Yanking me by the collar, she presses her lips to mine.
How have you shown commitment to your wife?
I squirm when I kiss her.
Unease makes me drop my hands.
“Jerrison, what’s wrong?” Ashley’s robe is falling over her shoulder. I see lace and cleavage. I see supple skin begging for my touch.
The most important commandment in a marriage is commitment.
I cringe. Dig my fingers into fists.
Why now, Doc? Why the hell are you showing up in my head now and making me feel uncomfortable?
Your wife is the mirror. What are you giving her that she’s reflecting back to you?
My body wants this.
I’m straining against my pants.
It’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed a woman. Too long.
But the voices keep getting louder. And the discomfort mounts until I grip Ashley by the arms and drag her off my lap. I scramble to my feet and put distance between us. My eyes slide away from hers because, looking at her-suddenly-makes me nauseous.
Ashley remains in place. Her head angles down and her shoulders hunch forward. With slow, reluctant movements, she pulls her robe back over her shoulders.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I mutter. My chest heaves with a labored breath.
“Do you really want to go back, Jerrison?” Ashley croaks. “You said you were leaving her. You said she changed. That she turned into a monster.” Ashley steps forward and takes my hand. “You said no one understands you like I do.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes sharpen. “Don’t you dare apologize. Don’t you dare turn what we’ve done into a mistake.”
“I shouldn’t have been in your life like this. I shouldn’t have-”
“You rescued me.” Her voice rings loudly. She flails an arm out. “You were there for me when I was going through hell. You found me in that place and showed me what love was. That’s what you did, Jerrison. Don’t you apologize for that.”
“This isn’t right.”
“Says who?” Her eyes are wild. “Who gets to make that decision?” “Ashley, listen to me.”
For a second, our heavy breaths are all that fill the silence. A candle flickers and then blows out.
Darkness gets thicker.
I drag my eyes to hers. Wait until she’s looking back. Until I’m sure she recognizes how serious I am in this moment. “This stops now.”
She tilts her head defiantly.
“I will no longer call you. Or visit you. And I won’t answer your calls either.”
Ashley wraps her arms around herself. “Get out.”
I run out of her apartment. It feels like someone just ripped my ribcage open. The bones are creaking in the wind and my heart’s rolling down the highway to the speed of a hay bale in a western film.
Ashley’s footsteps pound after me. I whirl around.
She flies into my arms and hugs me. “I didn’t mean that. Don’t go, Jer.” I steel myself against her.
She rises on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. The moment her mouth brushes my jaw, I think of Harriet’s sweet kiss.
This isn’t what I want.
I push Ashley away and march into the moonlight.
A figure is standing in the parking lot. He’s got dark eyes and a baseball cap. I stop short when the light from the streetlamp brushes across his face.
Fuentes.